Literal Application
by FicHirvi
Summary: It has been 4 months since El was kidnapped, but Neal's life is far from normal. He could maybe handle Peter's anger, but to have all of his other friends suddenly absent, Neal finds himself alone and miserable. When they stumble across a criminal gang during a routine investigation, Peter realizes he might've made a mistake. But is it too late to make it right? Neal!Whump
1. Chapter 1 - Nobody wants to be lonely

A/N- Hi there! I am glad you have stumbled upon my story. First I'll have to clear up some things. Spoiler wise: I have seen the series all the way to the first episodes of season 5 so everything up to that point is game. I think I haven't messed up on the timeline for this story, which takes place after Matthew Keller kidnaps El. I have taken a few liberties to tell this story: In my version Moz never told Neal about the treasure, but still tried to convince him to run with him, saying he'd gotten a score of a lifetime. Neal doesn't know but suspects Moz had the treasure. They tricked Keller and caught him that way like they did in canon, without help from Moz, who already had run. Also Peter and the other agents have been treating Neal badly ever since the kidnapping. This is my first fan fiction I have ever published. I got hooked on White Collar and have been spiraling down the fan fiction sinkhole and I couldn't get this story idea out of my head (seriously, it was bothering me even at work) so I decided to write it and share it with anyone still willing to read :)

Warnings: Foul language, depictions of violence, mentions of extreme violence, depression

Chapter 1 -

Neal sighed. He was standing beside Peter's car, arms crossed over his chest as the agents buzzed around the scene he knew wasn't where their goons were lurking in. He debated whether or not to say "I told you so" to Peter and the others but decided against it seeing as the formerly mentioned agent had been in a foul mood, to put it lightly. Peter had practically bitten the conman's head off when Neal had told them this would not be the right location from the start, so in the name of self-preservation Neal just watched the agents search around some poor schmuck's warehouse that seemed to store nothing but plastic pipes in various colors and sizes. Neal hadn't been interested enough to find out why this weirdo needed a rainbow of plastic pipes and was absolutely not going to. Some things were better left as mysteries. He merely focused on enjoying the feeling of being outside his apartment, even if it meant hanging around in warehouses in the woods.

House arrest. That pair of words sounded like a curse word more and more as the days went by. After Keller had taken Elizabeth the entire white collar division had given Neal the cold, or more like the absolute-zero-nothing-moves-freezing shoulder and the ex-con supposed he couldn't blame them too much since even he hadn't quite forgiven himself for dragging assholes like Keller into his handler's life. And he wasn't sure he ever could. Nobody at work had uttered a single non-case related word to him in the four months this had been going on. Neal had mostly been slumped at his desk up to his eyebrows in mortgage fraud cases (which he had started to hate with a never before seen intensity) and called in to Peter's office only for a question or two, not even for an entire meeting. He had had no undercover operations or anything to break the sheer boredom brought on by endless paperwork.

That morning had been an exception, but only because they really had nobody else with as much knowledge on ancient gold coins as Neal. Even if the mark he had talked to had been boring to an almost offending degree, Neal had relished the human contact with someone who didn't think he had stolen a treasure. Cruelly enough it only seemed to intensify the loneliness he felt after he came back to the icy atmosphere of the office.

Otherwise his days followed a numbing routine. He simply got in in the morning, brought by Diana or Jones, whichever happened to be on the Caffrey watch and left after a mountain of paperwork had been completed and either of the agents working for Peter was available to give him a ride home. Neal's house arrest was applied even at the office and he wasn't allowed to get lunch from outside the office. This had quickly spread across the office and since the team was fiercely loyal to Peter and very, very angry at Neal, they rarely ordered anything to the office anymore and even if they did, they made sure Neal wasn't getting anything. He had started to bring his own lunch in fairly quickly, but the days he forgot about it very much sucked. Days that sucked more were those, when Diana or Jones would pick him up and his ride home would be the agent who hadn't picked him up. This meant very long days for Neal, a fact which Peter seemed to brush off without a second thought.

Peter hadn't even as much as looked at Neal after the situation with El had been solved. Neal had tried to make amends, to talk with his handler whom he considered a dear friend, but had only been met with stern command to get back to work. Mozzie didn't answer from any means of communication Neal had access to and he hadn't seen his friend after he dashed away when Neal refused to run. Neal wasn't even sure if the man had received his message about Elizabeth going missing. To make matters worse, June had also been absent. Four months ago, after hearing El was all right, she had informed her tenant that she'd be visiting her daughter for some time. Even the staff was working during the days when Neal was at the office and the social pariah was starting to make prison sound like a paradise. At least there would be someone there he could talk to. If only for a little while.

Neal had been tempted to call El, to apologize and to get her to speak to her husband but since Peter had been very clear that all of his phone calls and any contact were supervised in case he'd try to access the treasure everyone still thought he had; Neal hadn't tried to contact her. He was fairly sure that if he tried to call El, he wouldn't get past hello before Peter broke down his front door.

And if this wasn't enough, the rumors circling around the office seemed to be getting crazier and crazier. The obvious ones were about Neal having the treasure, the most obscure ones were about Neal being the bastard son of some big crime lord who had him on a leash doing all his dirty work and the nastiest ones were questioning Neal's relationship with June, his involvement in Kate's murder and whether or not he had an affair with Peter's wife and had pointed Keller at her when she refused to leave Peter for him.

Neal had tried to ignore the rumors and the snide comments made about him. Emphasis on tried. The rumors combined with the fact that it seemed to be open season for Neal Caffrey for those agents who had hated him to begin with and some of the new agents and probies who were eager to impress their seniors joining in, life at the office was quickly becoming unbearable. But since the alternative was to sit alone in his apartment void of any contact save for occasional sightings of maids, Neal had gritted his teeth and pressed on.

The situation was spinning out of control, rapidly. At first Neal had thought this to be temporary, but with no end in sight it had started to affect his life in all aspects. The first one to go was his appetite. Rationally he knew he needed food, but nothing tasted good anymore and his stomach seemed to have declared mutiny against anything considered food. He forced himself to eat enough to keep functioning, but had still lost a lot of weight from his already slim body.

The next one to abandon him was sleep. Nightmares plagued him every night and that was if he actually managed to fall asleep in the first place. He saw Keller, Elizabeth and Peter, sometimes also Mozzie, Kate, Sara, Diana and Jones and in his dreams none of the scenarios ended well for his friends.

The final thing, the thing he never thought he'd be without and never before had abandoned him, was painting. He had drawn and painted as long as he remembered, but little after entering his third month of this cruel and unusual punishment he had stopped. It wasn't like he hadn't tried. He'd dragged his easel around the house, trying to start a painting, anything. But no matter where he had been, the blank canvas seemed to be mocking him, much like his coworkers. After a few days of trying he'd given up. He had gathered all of his paintings and dumped them in the attic. Then he had put all of his painting equipment into a large box and stuffed it under his bed.

He'd tried to read, tried anything to distract himself, but nothing was working. He could feel the mean things said about him getting to him more and more. Most days after work he just lay in bed, staring at the ceiling since sleep eluded him. Sometimes he didn't feel like he was real anymore. With the human contact he needed cut to a bare minimum, he felt himself wither.

Neal wasn't sure if Peter was aware of all of this, but he didn't believe the man to be completely oblivious to what was happening, at least at the office. Of course Neal couldn't be sure if the older man cared enough to do anything about it. In a way, Neal thought sadly, this was even worse than solitary in prison, since this way the life he knew and loved seemed to be dangling in front of him, just out of his reach, and he was powerless to get it back since lord knew he'd tried.

Sighing again Neal untangled his arms and stood a little straighter as he saw Peter, Diana and Jones approaching. He had been dragged along to this search to identify the stolen artwork they were chasing but seeing as they were in the wrong location, there was nothing to see here for him.

"If I see one more packaging of plastic tubing in the near future, I think I'm going to scream." Peter grumbled as he walked past Neal and pulled the driver's door of his Taurus open. His junior agents followed him, Diana riding shotgun and Jones circling the car so Neal could get in the door he had been standing by.

If things had been normal, Neal would have cracked a joke or two, teased the agents on how he already knew they had been in the wrong place, and gotten into the car smirking. Then again if things were normal Neal was pretty sure they would have never been at this particular warehouse, since he had long ago told them that Rick Maraccio, the notorious art thief and smuggler, would prefer a location he knew thoroughly and was likely to store his goods somewhere he was familiar with.

What worried Neal the most about this case were the rumors he'd heard from his street contacts. There were whispers of Rick being a murderer and a sadistic one at that. There was talk about the man actually taking souvenirs from his victims and other grueling details that had put Neal off his lunch more than once. He had shared this with the agents, but since there was no evidence they had written him off by saying they were only rumors meant to scare off anyone willing to tangle with Rick.

"Get in." Peter commanded and Neal complied without uttering a word. By now he knew it was useless to rebel. He plopped himself down on the backseat and fastened his seatbelt.

"Don't. Say. A. Word." Peter grumbled as he started the car. It took Neal a while to realize that Peter was actually talking to him. He tore his gaze away from the passing scenery and looked towards the driving agent, puzzled.

"I know you are thinking "I told you so". Say it and you'll walk home." Peter grumbled, not even glancing at his CI through the mirror. At least he was concentrating on the road Neal thought and turned his eyes to the window once more.

Neal could practically feel Jones staring at him, the agent sitting beside him had been having a hard time with the way Neal was treated around the office lately. He had still done it but now looking at the man beside him he started to notice first hand that this thing had been going on way too long.

Caffrey would have never let a comment like that slide under normal circumstances. Now that Jones thought about it, he hadn't seen the conman smile or joke in a very long time. He had thought that at least some of the interns would cave in due time and start talking to the consultant but he'd been wrong. Loyalty to Peter ran deeper than he had even thought possible and since the senior agent blamed Caffrey for stealing the treasure, so did the entire office.

Jones stared at the man sitting next to him. Caffrey looked tired; he was slumped against the car door, absently scanning the view outside the car. He had dark patches under his eyes and the eyes themselves were a matter of their own. The stunning blue eyes lacked their sparkle and were generally starting to look frighteningly lifeless.

Jones himself had spent some time watching June's house and now that he thought about it, he hadn't seen June or the weird little dude who was one of Neal's closest friends around the house even once during his duty on surveillance duty. He had also noted the rumors.

Just earlier that day he had barely contained himself as three of the newest additions to white collar had commented on how the conman was paying his rent to June "in nature" and laughed loudly after their rather repulsively detailed assumptions about what went on in Neal's penthouse. Jones had wanted to backhand the youngsters. He knew June, who was one of the sweetest elder ladies he had ever come across, and knew that she considered the young man living under her roof like an adopted son. He also knew that Caffrey would never in a million years use someone or his body like that.

Beside him Neal sighed, looked over at Peter with a heartbroken expression and adjusted his position. The look decided the matter for Jones. He had to talk to Neal today. He didn't know if the conman had just not let them see how much the treatment he had been receiving had affected him, or if he just had gotten too tired to try to mask it anymore, since everything the younger man did to redeem himself went unnoticed. Guilt gnawed on Jones as he thought of all of the ways Caffrey had been shunned the past few months. He had seen all of it but had done nothing. Now, looking at the exhausted consultant silently leaning to the cool car window he wished he had.

The ringing of Peter's phone pulled Jones out of his thoughts.


	2. Chapter 2 - The Cloud That Hides The Sun

A/N

Hello again!

First of all, I'd like to say sorry for not updating sooner, but I have been insanely busy and haven't had time to sit down with the story lately. I actually have multiple chapters ready, but they need revising before posting, that's why it has taken me a while ( I wrote on and then in the middle changed my mind about something and now have to comb through the thing so I have no continuation issues). And wow what a response I have been getting! Thanks to all of you! I will address a few reviews directly below, but know that every review made my day J I will also be publishing the story on AO3.

 **mandarino:** A rotten fish :D What a mental picture!

 **Dear Guest** , who left a long review and addressed the weaknesses my story has in relation to canon. Thanks for you criticism, it was very well put together. I must admit I didn't think my plotline through too much in the light of canon and how it would continue or fit in the general plotline. This story was born, when I watched the first few episodes of season five and they made me mad at how Neal is treated. I won't go into too much details, so I don't give away my plans for this story, but basically I wanted to make a situation, where Neal is treated unjustly and the others have to basically realize they were bad and they should feel bad. I also read another story (cannot remember the author right now) which was set to similar scene, where Neal was being treated unfairly by the division and I really liked it, so it became the setting for my story also. In addition to that, melodrama is basically my middle name so there you go :D And when it comes to the treatment and childish behavior, adults can suck sometimes and act like children. How I see the behavior is that everybody displays their disdain for Neal in different ways and it adds up to the whole thing, becoming something that people are aware of, but feel like they can't change. Like if a situation like this goes on too long, it becomes the status quo. I hope I am making sense. I have multiple chapters ready, and already know that the story will only get crazier from here, so I am sorry to say that my fic might not be for you. I know full well that this would never fly in canon, which is why it's happening in my fanfic. Thank you for taking time to read and review my story, it is much appreciated.

 **Reading Reid:** I share your opinion about stories where Peter is in the wrong, I love Peter, but I feel like in canon he gets to be right far too often ;) Oh and btw, if your name is a reference to Spencer Reid from Criminal Minds, I adore him!

 **Ash:** Yay! Publish soon, I look forward to reading your fic!

So here we go, I sincerely hope my story will live up to your expectations. I will try to post sooner next time J

Disclaimer: I do not own White Collar

Chapter 2-The Cloud That Hides The Sun

Peter answered his phone, drawing the attention of everyone in the car. He spoke respectfully and shortly, which told the rest of them that the caller was Hughes. After the call ended Peter told Diana to type an address into the GPS device.

"What's going on, boss?" Diana asked as she gently tapped their destination into the machine.

"Hughes took two of the newbies with him and wants us to go check out this warrant with them. They think it might be linked to our case, since the place showed up in our searches. It is now an active ranch owned by an elderly couple. It's just a regular warrant gig to show the newbies the ropes, so Hughes wants us there too, since we are close by." Peter answered, turning towards a smaller road as advised by the robotic voice of the GPS.

Neal bit back a sigh. The three new agents, Jackson, Ross and Winters, had come to the unit a little before the Keller incident. The three had been nice to Neal and he had chatted with them every time their paths had crossed, but after El was safely home and all was supposed to be if not well at least civil, the trio had become some of the worst tormenters to Neal.

He partially understood why. As young agents they longed to fit in and gain acceptance from their seniors. In a typical way of over-eagerness they had massively overdone it, feeding on each other. Neal was pretty sure half of the more incredulous rumors had originated from them. At least he'd only have to deal with two of them.

Neal's musings were interrupted as he saw an elderly woman occupying a phone booth, a sight that was both old fashioned in an era of cellphones and odd since the area was so isolated. He didn't have long to ponder over that, since they turned to an even smaller road.

As the Taurus pulled over just outside the closed gate leading up to the ranch, Hughes' car pulled up behind them. Jones quickly opened the gate, re-entered the car and the agents drove to the yard.

Before they stopped the hairs on Neal's neck stood up. Something was definitely wrong here. His conman instincts had never been wrong before and that was enough to kick his senses into overdrive. To be a working ranch the place seemed awfully quiet, the pens used for animals obviously were in use, but didn't look like any cattle had trotted there for quite a while. Nobody came to greet them, which also made Neal nervous. Usually people came to look who drove into their yard but even as Peter switched the car to park, no one showed up.

To their left side was a big farmhouse, obviously the living quarters of the owners. Behind the building even further into the left side was a red building surrounded by riding tracks and discarded show jumping hurdles. Neal guessed that to be the stable. Directly in front of them was a huge building that most likely housed the cattle. Finally to their right was a big hall and its large double doors hinted it to be the place to store faming equipment.

The ranch was surrounded by forest, save for the pen and the road, which still lead into a forest road. As the agents started to unload from the cars, Neal also got out. He ignored the venomous look the young agents gave him and turned towards his handler.

"Pete- Agent Burke, something doesn't feel right." he said, glancing around the perimeter nervously.

"I do not recall asking, Caffrey "Peter said harshly, once again without looking at the conman "if you're scared you can stay in the car."

The snickers from the younger agents didn't escape Neal's ears, and apparently Hughes heard them too. He frowned at the agents and looked over at Peter and Neal. Something was off. He hadn't had time to really pay attention to anything but work for a while now and he had clearly missed something judging by the way the agent and his CI were acting. He would ask about it later.

"No that's not what I meant –"Neal started but Peter interrupted him.

"Actually it is better for you to wait in the car. Nothing for you to do here."

"But…"

"Get in the car." Peter spat at him while readying himself for the search. Even Diana flinched at his tone; one would've thought Neal had insulted the older man's ancestors. Without saying a word the ex-con got back in to the car and shut the door.

Hughes gave the order to move. They divided into two teams, Jones and Diana took one of the new guys, Ross, and went to check out the farmhouse and stable. Peter, Hughes and Jackson went to check on the farming equipment first. The cowshed was so large, the agents decided they would all go in there together.

As they exited the building after tripping over some shovels, they made their way to the other agents already waiting by the cowshed, Hughes glanced at Peter.

"Mind telling me what the deal with Caffrey was earlier?"

Peter sighed and took a quick look towards the car.

"Nothing, just re-establishing some ground rules."

"Ground rules? Listen Peter I would be the first one to tell you good going for reigning him in a little, but that seemed like something more. Is he all right? I haven't really seen him in a while, but the kid looks like he hasn't slept in the last decade." Hughes frowned.

"I am sure everything is fine. Did you get anything?" Peter directed the final question at his junior agents, basically brushing his superior off. Hughes' frown deepened.

"Nothing. Seems like no one's home, and the stable housed only horses." Jones replied.

"Okay, let's go see the cows then." Hughes muttered and led the agents into the building.

"Guys, I might agree with Caffrey. Something's off" Jones muttered as they walked into the dimly lit space filled with cattle. Peter could feel it too. There were no people anywhere. Granted there were no cars either, but still the complete absence of people on the property while the animals were still there was unnerving.

He had done some research and apparently the Whites, who owned the farm, had also personnel working for them and helping take care of the cattle, and despite it being daytime, he could see nobody anywhere. Suddenly a clang disrupted the low noise of the cows.

"It came from the back of the building! Diana, Jone-"he was cut off by a gun pressed to the back of his head. Glancing to his side he could see Hughes and Jackson in the same situation.

"Put your guns to the ground!" a gruff voice commanded. The agents complied and were chained up with their own handcuffs. Then they were lead at gunpoint into to the back of the building and down a set of stairs into the cellar. The men pushed them inside, where the agents met who could only be the Whites tied up, just like the lawmen were.

The agents were sat next to them, their assailants using the keys to open the handcuffs and fastening them around a pipe that ran along the wall of the basement. Despite being next to each other, the perps had guns pointed at them and none of the agents dared to move.

Peter looked around the space. It was a small cellar that seemed to have not been used in a while, judging by the empty shelves. There was one single lightbulb hanging from the ceiling, no window and only one door. This was bad. Just like Neal had…

Shit. Neal. The agent had completely forgotten the consultant in his adrenaline rush. There were at least six armed men roaming around the compound and they were bound to find Neal at some point. For once Peter hoped the younger man would not heed his orders.

Peter shook the thoughts out of his head and concentrated on their assailants. The group couldn't have looked more criminal if they'd been carrying a neon sign saying "paid thugs" on it. One of them had definitely consumed a steroid or two in his lifetime, because Peter was pretty sure it wasn't possible to grow and train oneself to be as huge as this man was without some chemical help.

After the huge guy his eyes locked into a black-haired man he recognized from the case files he had been prowling through for weeks now. Rick Maraccio. The bastard noticed Peter looking in his direction, locked his gray eyes to the agent's brown ones and had the audacity to wink.

He took a step towards the agents who stayed silent since the crooks had threatened the lives of the terrified Whites in case the agents would do anything. Before Rick could open his mouth, one of his men hurried down the stairs.

"I just went to check on the cars. There's someone sitting in the Taurus!" Peter cursed in his mind.

"Well, well, well. It looks like we are going to add another guest to the party. Max! Go get them." Rick mused.


	3. Chapter 3- Slowly Sinking

A/N: Here we go, chapter 3 :) Thank you for all the feedback! I'll see if I can fix the doubling of the second chapter, I have literally no idea how I managed that :D

Chapter 3- Slowly Sinking

Neal watched as the agents assessed the scene. At first he was hyper vigilant, sure that something would go wrong. He had learned that his conman's instincts rarely alerted him for nothing. But when all of the agents regrouped without any clear sign of danger he relaxed against the seat. Maybe he was just imagining things due to lack of sleep. That was possible, right?

Neal settled down after the agents entered the biggest building all together. He shut his eyes in the hopes of getting a little rest. Undoubtedly Peter would rip him a new one if they found him sleeping in the car when they returned, but he couldn't bring himself to care too much. Lately it seemed like he could do nothing right anyway so what did it really matter?

Still, the way Peter had spoken to him bothered him more than he'd ever admit. He could see the newbie agents' mocking grins with his mind's eye and sighing deeply he made a decision he had been contemplating for the last week. He'd never thought he would voluntarily walk into a prison. But even the solitary confinement had more friendly people than he currently had in his life.

Of course he knew June would be returning at some point but he didn't want to rob her away from her actual children and thus had no idea when she'd be back. During their phone calls Neal had done his best to cover up anything being wrong, assuring June that he was doing okay and the house was still standing. But he also knew that he could not survive like this much longer and even when June would eventually return, she had her own very active life and Neal would never dump all his troubles on his generous landlady and deprive her of her own social life.

No, his decision was made. After this case he would go directly to Hughes and ask to revoke his deal and go back to prison to serve the rest of his sentence. He had already contacted the prison, but could only get a hold of a secretary, who had promised to send the required paperwork to the White Collar unit, but Neal would have to do the heavy lifting himself. According to his calculations of the speed of the postal service, the papers should arrive tomorrow, which was why he was planning to speak to Hughes first thing in the morning. He had simply reached his limit. Hughes could probably pull some strings to arrange him extra security. The FBI owed him at least that much.

Neal was so lost in thought, leaning to the seat with his eyes closed that he only came back to reality at the sound of an opening car door. His door.

"Well that didn't take too long..." he said turning to the open door, but his sentence drawled to silence. Looking at him was not Peter or the any of the others. It was a man that could have easily been cast as the infuriating Bond villain who never died no matter how many times you kicked his ass.

"What the-"

"Come with me and you can see your friends." the man growled. Neal gave out an incredulous chuckle. A mistake, he would soon discover.

"No thank you, if you could only bring my friends back here-"Neal was once again interrupted, this time by the hilt of a gun he hadn't realized Mr. Steroids was carrying. The gun slammed to the left side of his forehead and for a minute the only thing he could see were stars. Neal felt himself being yanked out of the car violently, tied up, frisked and carried like a ragdoll towards the barn. Neal tried to struggle, but he was about as successful in his endeavor as a kitten attacking their own reflection in a mirror. The man entered a barn, passed all the cows and walked down the stairs.

Once down, Neal was roughly showed to the floor. Someone called his name but Neal was too dazed to react. He opened his eyes, saw all the agents and two unknown people tied up in front of him. His vision swam a little, but the next mention of his name had him turn his head towards the voice. The only assailant now was a black-haired man who had spoken. Neal recognized him at once. _Damn, we're screwed_ , he thought.

"Well Neal, who might you be, exactly? Max sad he didn't find a gun on you, so I am guessing you are not an agent, huh? What's your role among these lovely G-men?" Rick spoke in a soft and deliberately languid voice, which would have been soothing had Neal not seen his cruel, cold eyes.

Peter tensed. These people wouldn't like Neal's position with them. This was something he had always feared would happen if Neal was to be sent back to prison. In the criminal world his friend would be considered a snitch. That would not bode well. The sight in front of him dissipated some of the bitterness Peter had been clinging to for months. He had thought he would never again be able to call Neal his friend. But now seeing the conman in such a danger felt like a splash of cold water against his face.

"Maybe you know a little something about the case these agents are building against me? You would enlighten me wouldn't you? I must warn you though since it already seems like you resisted something, we have… ways to extract information." Rick almost purred, creeping closer to the sitting conman, who had sobered up the second he recognized the captor. Neal scurried away from the approaching man, but refused to drop eye contact with him.

"He's just a CI, he knows nothing important!" agent Ross yelled at Rick. Peter closed his eyes and cursed silently. If the young agent had had a little more experience, he would have chosen different words, but now he had given Neal away immediately. And Peter didn't miss the tone he said it in either. Even if the comment was meant to help his friend, the young agent had also thrown in a dig at Neal who sometimes knew more about the cases than anyone else. Certainly more than the probies did.

Neal paled visibly as Ricks face darkened.

"A snitch, huh? Selling out your own to your little friends!? Ah, such a shame. You would have made a wonderful toy boy for me, just look at those eyes. Well maybe I'll add them to my collection after we are done here. But right now my dinner is getting cold since you burst in right at meal time, so I'll give you some time to say bye bye to your little friends. I hope working for them was worth it." Rick leaned in towards Neal and stroked his cheek. The sharp edge in his voice told Neal that this would not end well for him and as the other man talked about his eyes, it took all of his self-control to not shiver.

Then Rick turned and left, slamming the door closed and locking it with what sounded like multiple locks. A stunned silence reigned in the basement.

"Neal, you okay? What happened, did they hit you?" Peter struggled towards Neal but the metal pipe didn't let him go far.

"Yeah well, the guy that makes The Hulk look like a mildly pissed off leprechaun asked me to join him. Understandably I was reluctant and he apparently lacks finesse in his negotiating techniques." Neal grumbled. They were in a very dire situation indeed.

"Are all of you cuffed?" Neal asked.

"Yes. In our own cuffs nonetheless." Peter answered and tested his bonds just in case the goons had been careless. Neal felt around his ties and sighed. Of course he had to be tied with a rope instead of cuffs, which would have been easily picked with the picks he had hidden in his suit.

Apparently Mr. Big Bad and Temperamental had been a good boy scout too. The knot he had tied Neal's wrists with, held firmly. The ropes had nearly no wiggle room, since Neal had been too dazed to apply his long learned techniques on how to leave yourself enough space to slip rope ties. No matter which way he tried, the other thumb was always in the way. That was going to make his life suck just a little more.

"Any of you know how to pick handcuffs?" Neal asked as he weighed his options. It was no surprise to him that all of the lawmen answered no to this query. Seriously what did they teach them in Quantico?

"Okay, we're going to do this the hard way then. I have to get at least one of you free before they come back. Something tells me they aren't a nice bunch." he said to no one in particular and started to adjust his hands.

"Are you sure they aren't some friends of yours?" agent Ross asked in a disgusted tone, gaining everyone's attention. Neal looked at him and had to fight to keep his mouth from gaping open. The young agent seriously continued bashing him even in a situation like this. After the initial shock Neal hardened his face and before any of the other agents, who to his surprise, actually looked offended on his behalf could answer he said in an even tone:

"Well no, _agent Ross_ , I never tangled with people like them. I have met many people like them in prison, though, and let me assure you, these are not the types to be satisfied by merely teaching lessons to snitches like me. These are the types of people who kill them. I am very aware that I have exactly zero friends here." he nearly spat out the last words and gained a surprised look from Hughes. The rest of the agents looked like kicked puppies.

"What is going on in here?" Hughes wanted to know, but before he got his answer, Neal opened his mouth again.

"We don't have time for this. Shit this is going to hurt." the last sentence he muttered to himself, having finally gotten his hands in to the right position.

"What is gonna hurt…?" Diana asked worried, but without answering Neal jerked his left hand upwards with a sickening pop and stifled a cry of pain.

"Neal what the hell?" Jones asked as Neal pulled his hands out of the ropes, now having enough space to do so.

"I dislocated a thumb to get out of these damn ropes. I hate ropes" he uttered more to himself and to the horror of the people in the room he grabbed his left thumb and jerked it back to its place, clearly having done so before. It still hurt just the same, but if he ground his teeth he could use it at least a little. He'd get it checked out after this was over and done with.

"That's… Are you okay, Caffrey?" Hughes asked.

"Right as rain, sir." Neal answered and got to his feet. He staggered a little bit, pressed a hand to his forehead to examine the damage. The bleeding had nearly stopped and he doubted the blow had been enough to give him a concussion. He then turned to look at the agents. Farthest away from him sat Diana and he made his way to her.

"I'll start with you, agent Berrigan, since you are farthest away. If they come in before I get everyone free, they'll assume I went to agent Burke or Hughes first." Diana nodded as a sign of understanding. Neal kneeled down beside her and produced two picks from the seams of his suit jacket.

"Listen carefully; I'll explain how to do this in case they come in before I'm done." Neal said quietly and explained his actions while picking the cuffs holding Diana.

"You think you remember how to do that?" he asked the female agent and as she nodded, he pressed one of his picks into her hand and moved to Peter.

"Your turn, agent Burke." he said softly and Peter felt a pang of guilt. Agent Burke. Neal set to work, but suddenly the door burst open and Rick sauntered down the stairs.

"Shit." he heard the conman whisper as they all stared at the approaching goon, frozen to place.

"Tsk, tsk, mr. Caffrey. I didn't think you'd be this stupid. Surely a master forger and conman such as you should have more intelligence than to pull off something like this. Honestly you disappoint me." Rick drawled on and looked at Neal in disgust.

"Well I'm sorry to disappoint you then." Neal looked at the other criminal directly in the eyes and used the same tone he had when addressing agent Rossi earlier.

"Ah, speaking of disappointments, you have recently produced a fair share of those, am I right?" Rick mocked, switching his gaze to Peter "I mean look at what happened to the lovely Mrs. Burke. And it was entirely your fault, as I have heard. I have to admit though; at first I didn't connect the dots since they have only spoken about you with your last name." A stunned silence answered him and Peter felt Neal's grip on his wrist tighten. The only outward sign showing how nervous the conman was.

"Heard?" questioned Hughes. How had he been in the dark of all of this? What he was hearing was clearing up the older agent's confusion over the way his agents were behaving and how Peter had addressed his CI.

"Yes, heard, director Hughes. You see your newest members tend to… socialize after work. Sometimes quite heavily. It really wasn't hard to bug them when I was buying them drinks a few weeks ago. I must say my intentions were to try to get intel about the FBI's movements regarding my… business. But fairly quickly I realized I had bugged some newbies who weren't allowed to any important meetings. What I did hear was a lot of very interesting things about your little rat here. Some of them rumors, I'm sure, but very entertaining. Tell me, Neal, how does it feel like to work with people who said and I quote: "you deserve nothing more than to die in a filthy ditch where no one will find you"? If it were me, I would at least be a little insulted." Neal had stood up from Peter and was now looking at Rick directly in the eyes with a hard expression none of the agents had seen on him before. Peter gasped, horrified, and tried to take a look at his friends face. Who had said something like that? Peter knew there were some nasty rumors afloat, but had he heard that one he would have definitely intervened.

"I see you leash holder racking his brain over here trying to think which one of his underlings said that. If I remember correctly it was… agent Jackson, am I right?" Rick mused and shifted his gaze at the young agents. When neither of them answered Rick took a step towards them and bellowed "AM I RGHT?!" making both of them flinch.

"Yes, it was me!" agent Jackson said with a pleading voice. The agents remembered the things Neal had told them about Rick and they started to believe it more and more.

"What do you want from us?" Jones spoke up.

"From you? Well my dear agent, you showed up rather unexpectedly but I have always wanted to try my techniques on people trained to resist persuasion, if you may" a cruel smile lingered on their captor's lips "but first…"

Out of nowhere Rick reached out, grabbed Neal by the collar and with surprising power threw the young man against the stone wall of the cellar. Neal had no time to brace for the impact; his hat went flying as his head slammed against the uneven rocks. Letting out a cry of pain and surprise he crumbled to the floor. Rick quickly approached and before Neal could get up; he drew his foot back and landed a swift kick to the consultant's stomach.

" I. Really. Don't. Like. Feds. But. Snitches. I. Fucking. HATE!" Rick shouted, every word was followed by a kick. Neal instinctively tried to flinch away from the blows, but his back was already against the wall, so the only thing he could do was try to shield his head with his arms. He fought against crying out but by the last few kicks he couldn't help it anymore. He vaguely heard someone or maybe multiple people scream his name, but Neal was too focused on the pain to pay attention.

Rick took a step back, panting. He straightened his suit a little bit, composing himself before he turned towards his prisoners, clearly overjoyed at the horror displayed on all of their faces. Behind him Neal groaned in pain and switched his position weakly.

Peter, worried for his friend, felt like throwing up. No matter what, Neal had never been violent and actually went to great lengths to avoid it at any cost. Peter noted that even the younger agents, despite their own actions against his CI, were looking unwell at his treatment. He wanted to call out to his friend, to see if he was at least conscious right now, but out of fear that speaking up would send Rick over the edge again Peter stayed quiet. Neal was still behind his attacker and Peter tried to will him into turning towards him.

"Aww look at that. Do you actually care about this piece of shit right here? I've heard it so many times through my handy little device your people calling him criminal scum; I am just giving him the appropriate treatment here." Rick smirked evilly and moved around the consultant, kicking him so he rolled over with a groan. Neal looked horrible; he had a little bit of blood trickling from the corner of his mouth, which Peter hoped originated from a cut rather than internal bleeding. The young man's face contorted with pain as he rolled on the floor.

"You still with us, Mr. Caffrey?" Rick asked and got Neal to sluggishly open up his eyes. He seemed disoriented, muttered something and then tried to focus his gaze on Peter, not quite succeeding. Rick was about to say something when the door to the cellar was opened.

In came one of the men who had imprisoned the agents. Peter thought the man had been called Martin, but he couldn't be sure. What drew all of their attention were the things the man was carrying. He had knives, cattle prods, a baseball bat and various other items Peter really didn't want to know the use for in his arms.

"You wanted these, boss?"

"Yes, put them to the corner there. Well since my entertainment has now been brought to me, I am afraid that I have more interesting things to do than waste my time on you, Mr. Caffrey." Rick smiled that creepy smile he had had playing on his lips, crouched down and lifted Neal's chin to look the young man in the eyes "so this is goodbye. Say bye to your fed friends, but don't worry, at least some of them will follow you soon enough" the crazy man chuckled.

"Martin! Take him to the yard and put him down like the dog he is."

"No!" Peter screamed and attempted to move towards his partner, but the handcuffs around the pipe yanked him back again. Rick mocked him somehow, but all Peter could see or hear was his partner, who was hoisted up by Martin slipping his arms under Neal's armpits. The goon wasn't exactly gentle and the near unconscious consultant let out a pained whimper. He could hear the other agents protest as well until Rick, armed with a gun, effectively told them all to shut up. The evil smirk made its way to his lips again as he looked at his prisoners and to everyone's horror added:

"And bring me his head; I have got to get those eyes."


	4. Chapter 4 - Can't Just Walk Away

**A/N Hi guys! Sorry it has taken so long to update the story! Real life tends to be busy etc. so I rarely have time to sit down and really focus on revising what I have already written or write more, but don't you worry, I have not forgotten the story and will also be writing the comfort part. A little nervous on how I will do writing that ( I am much better at kicking my favorite characters around than comforting them, even if I am a sucker for good comfort myself) Thank you for all the reviews! Always makes me nervous to read them, do not know why since you are all so nice :) Anyway, on with a new chapter!**

Chapter 4 – Can't Just Walk Away

Neal felt himself being lifted and his whole body seemed to scream at him for moving. His head lolled forward as he struggled to open his eyes. He had heard Rick's commands and a small voice somewhere in his brain was trying to coax him awake. He knew he was in danger and he didn't like the idea of being dragged away from Peter, but there was very little he could do about that now.

The man dragging him moved surprisingly quickly and before Neal knew it he, was already outside. It had started to rain; the cold water greeted him as he could not protect his face from it, seeing as the other man held him from his arms. The rain was the first lucky thing of the day though, since it was exactly what his brain needed to snap back to reality. And even if his reality was not a good place to be, it was worse to be so out of it.

The man that had been called Martin practically threw Neal to the ground. Groaning Neal did a quick survey of his surroundings. None of the other Ricks men seemed to be out and about on the yard, he was fairly certain he could remember some of them being in the barn as Martin had brought him outside. They were alone and this was his only chance to escape.

"Just stay put and this will be over quickly." Martin said as he reached for his gun. While his attention was diverted, Neal took his chance and attacked the man. Martin went down easily, since the element of surprise was in Neal's favor. He got up as quickly as he could and ran staggeringly towards the forest.

Neal heard Martin curse behind him and start to get up, but he didn't stop or look behind him. He had to get away, no matter how much pain he felt throughout his body. He had to get help somehow. Neal was just about to enter the forest when he heard the report of the gun and felt a burning pain on his left shoulder. Neal struggled to keep his balance but after he found his footing, the hit only made him run faster. He didn't hear the gun go off anymore, but couldn't be sure. He just ran.

"Fuck! That fucking mutt got me!" Martin fumed at Ryan, who had heard the racket and emerged from the barn.

"You were supposed to kill him?"

"Yeah, but the asshole jumped me and ran away. I got a shot in though, don't know where. He ran to the woods." Martin sulked.

"Well, if you got a shot in, he'll bleed out soon enough. Make up a story for the boss and let the forest animals do the rest." Ryan consoled and went back to the barn. It was not like a pathetic snitch could do them much damage, especially if he was injured. Ryan had seen Martin drag him through the barn and the man had already been in poor condition after the treatment from Rick. Martin spat to the ground and made his way back to the cellar, already spinning a story in his head.

The agents winced at the sound of a gunshot. Peter closed his eyes and prayed Neal had somehow magically gotten away. He heard Diana stifle a little whimper and felt Jones and Hughes tense since he was wedged between them. Rick picked up the hat that had fallen off Neal's head when the man had attacked the consultant and set it on his own head. Peter felt like ripping the hat from the man and figuring out a way to beat him senseless with the accessory.

"Ah, as I heard, he had impeccable taste. Guess he won't need this now. Or maybe I should put it on him if I decide to mount him. Those eyes are incredibly blue…" Rick mused, caressing the hat on his head. Peter's stomach roiled and he felt bile rise up his throat. A quick glance around and he realized he wasn't the only one about to meet his breakfast again. Before he could keep the contents of his stomach down long enough to answer, they heard footsteps. Martin returned and was carrying nothing. A small relief washed over Peter until he remembered the gunshot.

"Is it done? I thought I requested for the head?!" Rick questioned his hired muscle.

"Sorry boss. It is done but the rat tried to run away at the last minute. He threw off my aim and… let's just say there wasn't much of a face left for you. So I tossed him into the forest. The animals will take care of the rest." Martin's words didn't do any good for Peter's nausea. He closed his eyes and fought tears.

Neal was gone. It felt impossible. All Peter wanted to do now was hug the young con, despite not being a hugging kind of guy if the recipient of said hug wasn't his wife. He should've listened to Neal from the get go. He should have put the anklet back on after Neal's morning meeting with a mark from another case instead of deciding to deal with it once he got back to the office. He should've told Neal how sorry he was. That he would forgive him. That he missed his best friend.

He should have done as El had told him and invited Neal over for dinner.

Elizabeth had forgiven Neal the second she heard the young man had put his own life on the line for the sake of her rescue. Peter hadn't been able to and now he regretted that bitterly. He had let this go way too far. He should have intervened a long time ago, when he heard the first rumors, when he started to notice how Neal looked day in and day out. Peter knew Neal had blamed himself for what happened to Elizabeth more than everyone combined, but still he had foolishly held on to his own anger, letting it feed the people around him. And now it was all too late.

El didn't even know. She didn't know why Neal had suddenly become so busy he could never make it to the dinner. She didn't know the young man was on house arrest or that everyone at the office was treating Neal like something disgusting the cat dragged in a week ago. In fact Peter had kept very quiet about the happenings at the office, hoping that El, who had been busy with her own job, wouldn't notice anything strange.

A tear fell from Peter's eye and he couldn't stop it. He couldn't believe he'd never see Neal strut to his office, play with his rubber ball or grin at him with mischief dancing in his blue eyes. He'd never hear him complain about his dress choices or his deviled ham sandwiches. No more stake outs in the van. No, his friend, a part of his family had been tossed to the forest for the animals to rip apart and the thought filled him with anger and sadness.

He had missed Neal since day one of their non-communication four months ago. And he'd never get that time back.

"You did what? I really shouldn't send idiots to do my errands now should I?" Rick screamed and rammed the butt of his pistol to Martins head, sending the other man to the floor with a yelp "I gave you very straightforward instructions and you failed. This is your punishment. Now go and try to be useful in packing the cargo will you?!" the man growled and Martin couldn't get away faster.

" Well, now that that is dealt with, if you'll excuse me dear agents, I'll have to make some preparations for my business, but not to worry, we will get to have our fun later…" the psycho grinned at his prisoners and gestured to the chilling box Martin had brought in earlier. With that he tipped Neal's hat and walked off, slamming the door behind him.

At first no one dared to speak. Then Jones broke the silence.

"Do you think Caff- Neal is really…?" the normally confident man's voice was hoarse.

"You heard the gunshot. We have no reason to think anything else. You saw how out of it he was when they took him outside. Neal is not a violent person; we have no records of him getting that violently attacked, ever. He was pretty hurt. I don't think he could clear his head that quickly…" Peter didn't recognize his own voice as he rambled on.

"Oh, Neal…" Diana's voice was broken. The new agents along with the Whites were quiet, hanging their heads.

"He deserved better. But right now we can do right by him by getting the hell out of here. Berrigan, start working on these cuffs. The second you get someone free, move to the next person. Anyone free will go to that box and get a weapon. We're not going out this easy, when we have been provided with a way out." Hughes assumed control of the situation, though the thickness of his voice fooled no one. Diana stood up and started to work on Hughes' cuffs.

Neal ran until he tripped on something and went flying to the forest floor. He panted and listened. After a while he slowly moved to a seated position and looked back the way he came. Nobody seemed to be following him. Sighing in relief he slumped against a tree. Now that he stopped running, the pain seemed to hit him all at once.

Taking a deep breath, he felt around his left shoulder to take inventory of the wound. As much as he could tell, it was a through and through. There was a lot of blood but the wound would probably not kill him if he could find a way to stop or at least slow the bleeding down. He was a bit worried about the pain in his lower abdomen, but decided to push that back now. He had gotten away.

Now he had to figure out a way to contact someone and get some help. A nasty voice in the back of his head told him to just get away. None of the agents trapped in the cellar had been too nice to him during the past months. But he managed to silence the voice almost immediately. The agents were still his friends, or had been at least. he owed Peter so much and no matter how he had treated Neal, the younger man would never do this to the agent. Also, the Whites were innocent in every way. He could never just leave them all to Rick's mercy, since he knew the man didn't have that word in his dictionary. He would also never do that to Elizabeth. Not after all the pain he had already caused.

But he was in no shape to try to help the others without contacting someone. Neal racked his brain as he removed his jacket and tied it around his shoulder as well as he could. He'd need a phone. But it was too risky to try to lift one in his current state. Entering the house was also out of the question. He wouldn't be able to call for help if he got killed by the morons on Rick's payroll.

Then realization hit. The stable. There should be a phone there. There should also be a first aid kit, which he desperately needed. Grunting, Neal pushed himself up, grabbed a reasonably thick fallen branch off the ground and used it for support as he started to walk back towards the farm. He would walk until he saw the house and then circle around to enter the stables hopefully unnoticed. He was pretty sure there were no guards there; at least he hadn't seen any proof of activity around the building. He had to try, since the stable was his best shot. Ignoring the pain he picked up pace, feeling the adrenaline return. He had to save Peter and having a plan to do so gave him new strength to press on.


	5. Chapter 5 - Champion

**A/N Hi there! So sorry for not updating sooner! RL has been a lot to deal with for the past two months on many aspects and between that and working I have had no time or energy to write :( But I am here now! Now in this chapter we are getting a little more hurt for Neal again. I am well aware that I am probably bashing Neal more than a normal human could actually survive, but as someone in the comments pointed out, taking it to the extremes makes it more fun for me to write. And I think that we have long ago established that if it's realism and loyalty to canon you are looking for, then I am afraid your princess is in another castle :D I have no idea how many chapters this will be, I have 8 ready at the moment and still have tons to write, so at this point it is difficult to say. But without further explanations, here is chapter 5.**

Chapter 5 – Champion

Diana made fast work of the cuffs, after stumbling a little with the first ones. Once everyone, including the Whites, was free, the agents grabbed a weapon of their choice from Ricks vast collection and formed a plan to take out anyone who entered to the room. Now they just had to wait.

"Okay, now that we have nothing but time and our newest additions are listening at the door, I just want to let you all know, that I will require a very detailed report about whatever the hell has been going on at the office while I haven't been able to focus on our internal affairs." Hughes grumbled at his agents. It seemed like they all were running on autopilot, not really able to concentrate on anything, because the name of a certain consultant kept going through their minds.

"I promise to get to the bottom of everything and report back to you sir." Peter promised in a quiet, guilt ridden voice. How was he going to tell June, Mozzie and El about this? How could he? There was no way they wouldn't blame him. As if Peter wasn't blaming himself enough. He wanted to rage, to shout and cry, but he knew he couldn't afford that right now. Instead he tried to ground himself by visualizing swinging the baseball bat he had in his hand at the faces of the assholes that had taken Neal from him.

It was amazing, really, how fast time evaporated when you were hurt and wandering around an unfamiliar forest. Neal dragged himself for what felt like hours through the shrubs until he finally saw the house. He had previously covered himself with mud to avoid being seen while he moved in the forest. Neal did not know if Rick would send someone after him, if the man even knew what went on in the yard.

To his relief, it didn't seem like the attackers were patrolling the forest too closely and reaching the stable proved to be relatively easy. He slipped inside the building unnoticed. That's when things turned more difficult. He found a first aid kit, but the wall phone in the office seemed to have taken a vacation to Narnia. Cursing slightly he tended to his wound as best as he could with the limited supplies in the kit. He took two painkillers and then started to ponder his next move.

He needed to get the agents to safety. He was their best chance now that the perps hopefully thought he was dead and he was the only one outside the basement. But without a phone he had no hope to acquire help. He was in no condition to break into the main house, which was bound to be under strict watch. Yet excluding smoke signals there was very little he could think of.

The blood loss was slowing his thinking down and suddenly all the exhaustion, both from the previous months and his current situation rolled over him and Neal slid down the wall and sat down, breathing heavily. He almost wished he had sassed Peter in the car and been made to walk home. No, that would have meant that the agents would have been bound in the cellar with absolutely no hope of rescue.

Neal rested his eyes. The car seat had been soft, unlike the wall he was sat against now. It was sad really, the area was so beautiful and now it would be tarnished to Whites forever. If Rick would let them go of course. That seemed unlikely to Neal. He wondered if all of this would affect the neighbors also when it all eventually came out. There had been no houses for a long while before the farm though.

Briefly he thought about the fragile-looking old lady who had been speaking at a phone booth when they drove by… Neal's thoughts stopped there and his eyes flew open. A phone booth. A working one apparently. He could call 911 for free, no change needed. But the booth was too far away for him to walk to. With his injuries, it might as well be on the moon.

A neigh interrupted his desperation. Of course! He was sitting in a house full of vehicles, technically speaking. He made his decision fast and had to hold his breath as he forced himself up from the floor. The closest horse to the saddle room would have to do, since Neal really couldn't see himself hauling heavy equipment around the stable neither did he trust his skills enough to ride without a saddle.

Entering the saddle room he raided all of the cabinets and available pockets and found a small amount of change, just for backup. Then he realized he hadn't checked the horses name and had to backtrack to check so he'd choose the right equipment.

Despite the dire circumstances Neal had to snort with laughter. The horse was called Sundance of all things. Briefly he wondered if this made him Butch, a nickname usually reserved for Peter, in this situation as he hauled the saddle and bridle towards the horse.

Neal knew he should have brushed the horse before equipping it, but time was of the essence. Luckily Sundance was a friendly horse and gave Neal no trouble as he hauled the saddle on the animals back. The horse co-operated with the bridle too and Neal was grateful since his injuries were taking care of the trouble part enough, thank you very much.

"If we all get through this ok, I'll buy you a bag of carrots. Or bread, whichever you like." Neal mumbled and caressed the light tan fur of the horse. Before he could lead the horse out he realized he'd need a helmet. The last thing he needed was to bash his head on a low-hanging branch and knock himself out. He stepped out of the stall and nearly ran into one of the perps.

Neal was never a fighter. But to even his surprise, apparently life threatening situations were a good opportunity to learn. He reacted purely on instinct as the man tried to hit him. They scuffled, frightening Sundance a little.

Both of them got a few good punches in, but Neal was still outnumbered in the situation and he hit the ground, his attacker tumbling over him. Neal pushed him off with all his might and struggled up. His attacker seemed to be a bit disoriented too, which turned out to be in Neal's favor, since the knife he suddenly seemed to conjure out of thin air plunged into his right thigh instead of his stomach where it was originally aimed at. The mounting pain became overwhelming and Neal grasped for something, anything to help him in his predicament. His hand landed on an empty steel bucket and he swung it blindly towards the assailant. The bucket made contact with a sickening grunt and the blows stopped.

For a while Neal just lay there, panting, and the shoved the unconscious attacker off him. As the world stopped spinning and the pain relented a little, he pushed himself up and investigated his new wound.

Honestly, he was really getting tired of playing the injury bingo. Neal could only hope the prize would be better than normal bingo prizes, but he wasn't too optimistic. After a brief examination he decided that the knife, while having caused damage, hadn't nicked an artery. Walking would be a pain, literally, but luckily, he had a saddled friend to help him with that.

Neal used his tie to create pressure bandage on his newest wound and staggered to the gangster. He spent a while gathering halters and bridle, that he then used to bind and gag the other man. He then stuffed him into Sundance's stall while leading the horse out of the second door of the building that he knew led to the side not visible from the front yard.

Neal made it out just barely. By the time he started to mount the horse he was dizzy and wanted to puke. He stopped the horse, put his left foot on the stirrup and half pushed half dragged himself to the saddle. Thankfully Sundance didn't even flinch as the young man settled into the saddle. It had been years since he had last ridden a horse and he could only wish it was one of those things that were like riding a bike that you ever forgot how to do. Neal gathered the reins ad urged the horse forward. He'd ride through the forest to the road to avoid being seen.

The wait was driving the agents crazy. Every once in a while they heard a noise from upstairs, but nobody came to the door. This unfortunately gave all of them way too much time to think about their seemingly hopeless situation and Neal. No words had been exchanged after Peter promising the report. A loud thump upstairs drew their attention to the door, but still nobody came in.

So they waited.


	6. Chapter 6 - Can Anybody Hear Me?

**A/N You know guys, you had to wait long for chapter 5, so have another as an apology :)**

Chapter 6 – Can Anybody Hear Me?

Neal was fighting to stay conscious.

Luckily Sundance proved to be a very well trained horse, who had no problem carrying an injured, soaked and barely awake stranger through the woods and on to the road. Neal urged the horse a little more to increase their speed. The faster he got to the phone the better.

Finally the small dirt road let on to the bigger well-lit road. Neal guided the horse to the left. He could see the booth now and thought he had never seen anything as beautiful in his life. His foggy mind thought he should paint a portrait of it after this was over, unable to remember in his state that he couldn't recall the last time he had as much as doodled to the side of a note.

Sundance stopped right in front of the booth and Neal faced another problem. The chilly rain and sitting on horseback had stiffened him so much, he wasn't sure he could move. He could feel pain everywhere, naturally centered to his shoulder and thigh, but his bruised abdomen and ribs courtesy to Rick and his goon at the stable seemed to also be declaring mutiny after his ride.

But Neal had to get to the phone. He gritted his teeth, released his feet from the stirrups and forced his right leg over the horses back, inspiring a new kind of agony on his leg. He held on with his right hand, but at his state it wasn't enough. With a yelp he fell to the ground, smacking his head against the corner of the phone booth.

Since the goon in the stable Neal had promptly decided to name "Asshole" had distracted him, he had forgotten the helmet. His vision blurred, but luckily, he didn't black out. Neal swore as he mostly dragged himself inside the booth.

Catching his breath, trying to reign in the pain that seemed to engulf his whole body, Neal leaned to the phone booth wall. He saw Sundance standing in the rain where he had left the animal. Neal had to smile a little. A very well trained horse indeed.

The pain subsided a tiny bit, so Neal dragged himself upwards enough to reach the phone and dialed 911.

"911, what's your emergency?" a female voice answered. Neal identified himself, gave the address and started to tell his story, what had happened, how his agent friends were in danger and he needed to contact the FBI.

To his horror his words started to slur and nausea crept up his throat. The dispatcher grew suspicious and started to ask if he had taken something. A beating didn't seem to be the right answer to the lady and she started to get frustrated with him.

Neal tried to convince her he wasn't high or pulling a prank on her, told her repeatedly that they needed help, that they needed back up and an ambulance. Then he made a big mistake and mentioned he had ridden to the phone booth he was calling from on a horse. That was when the lady angrily told him off for taking up time from someone who might actually have an emergency and hung up. Neal stared at the phone and felt like crying. Why was it that anywhere he went anything he did no one ever believed him? This lady didn't even know him and still outright thought he was lying. Neal reached into his pocket and dug out the change he had gathered from the stable, thanking everything holy for doing so. It took a little more stretching to reach the coin slot and then to dial the number he knew by heart. He could only wish that Elizabeth was home.

In the cellar tension was building. They had waited for what felt like an eternity, but nothing was happening. The noise upstairs continued and it sounded like some heavy containers were being moved around.

The agents were starting to lose their composure, unable to stay on high alert for such a long time. They were silent though. Nobody cared to talk much, everyone guessing each other's thoughts, circling between Neal and their captors. The sounds their assailants were making upstairs were almost maddening, but suddenly they stopped and the complete silence that descended to the cellar felt thick enough to cut with a knife. It didn't last long though. The cellar door opened and the agents switched back to their alert mode.

"Burke residence, Elizabeth Burke speaking." Els chipper voice, the one Neal had missed so much answered the phone.

"Elizabeth, listen to me! I don't have much time and you have to believe me!" Neal couldn't help the panic in his voice. He had absolutely no idea how much change he had put in to the machine, no clue how much time he had to convince El about the severity of the situation. He rattled the story he had told the dispatcher at double speed. He repeated the address and thought he could hear El scribbling it on a note.

"Neal? Are you saying that Peter, Reese and the others are in danger at this address? Where are you?" El asked, worried by the uncharacteristic panic she could hear in her friends voice and the way he tended to slur his words and repeat himself like he couldn't remember what he had already told her. But Neal was fading; he could feel himself slip from consciousness. Suddenly he realized he had no idea where he was.

"I-I-I don't know… El please, you got to help them, 911 didn't believe me…" Neal stuttered.

"How badly are you hurt Neal, do you need an ambulance?" El asked, her own concern mounting by the second.

"I don't know, I guess. El please you have to help them, they won't believe me!" Neal couldn't keep his eyes open anymore. His head, shoulder, stomach and thigh were all fighting over which one could cause him most pain.

"Okay Neal. Okay, I will-" El started but then a mechanical voice interrupted her, telling Neal to insert more coins. Neal let the phone drop. He had done all he could and finally he succumbed to the darkness that was closing in.

After the almost unbearable wait, the fight was over fairly quickly.

All of the perps except for Rick and one guy Peter couldn't remember hearing the name of, came downstairs, clearly not prepared for the agents to be free and armed. They didn't have their guns drawn and were taken completely by surprise.

The agents pushed the Whites behind them in order to get them out of harms way. After the initial shock the perps put on a fight. Both sides got a few good punches in, but movement in the tiny space ceased at the sound of a gunshot. Rick was standing on the stairs, furious.

"What the hell is going on in here?! Put your weapons down immediately or I WILL kill you all right here!" he bellowed and aimed his gun to Diana's head. All of the agents complied without hesitation.

"What are you waiting for?! Someone tie them up! This is why I hate the feds, you just couldn't wait for me to begin our game, no you had to ruin everything! Well guess what, now we are all going to go to the yard and none of us get to play at all!" if Peter had ever suspected Neal's assessment of Rick being insane, all of the doubt evaporated now. The man was beside himself with rage, being denied the torture of the agents, Peter thought. After they were tied, the agents and the Whites were lead outside and made to kneel down in a row.

"Where is Anders?!" Rick barked and was fazed with mild mumbling about Anders regularly taking naps "well he better not whine about not getting to kill a fed to me, if the lazy bastard is snoozing somewhere when we have work to do." Rick finished.

"All right then. Which one should go first, boys?"


End file.
